Crack in the Kill Code (AmpCore #2)

03 - The Music of Life

Kirk cast a critical eye over the instrument, letting his gaze wander over every blemish and imperfection.

The violin was a Hadrian-era repo, imported and stamped with a letter 'P' shaped to look like an axe-head sitting on a piece of sheet music – Pictsound Entertainment Systems. Most of their money came from much cheaper, and much more advanced pieces of gear than this. Its body was slim, a faux-wood finish laid over its metal exterior.

What he could have given for something made out of real wood.

"What do you think?" the young man behind the counter asked.

Kirk's mouth twisted with indecision. He looked at the crypt count on his wrist tab's holo display. Looked back at the violin. With his other hand he scratched uneasily through his short mess of red hair.

"I..."

"I guarantee, you won't find a better model for the asking price," the vendor said with a shrug, leaning back in his seat. Middle aged and built like a bundle of straw, the man steepled his bony fingers. "It is in your budget, isn't it?"

"Maybe." Kirk met the watery eyes of the shopkeeper. "Strings?"

"Smoothbored synthetics – third hand but sturdy."

He nodded. "Can I try it?"

The shopkeeper's eyes narrowed with irritation. "I don't have all day. Do you want it or not? I have no shortage of buyers."

"Alright, alright, shit." Kirk scratched at the back of his head, indecision gnawing at him, before he finally decided there wasn't much point shopping around further. "I'll take it."

The man's demeanour changed in an instant, his hands falling apart and a bright smile spreading across his face. "Fantastic. I'll throw in the reinforced travel case for you as well. Just transfer the crypts there-," a finger flashed to the flat metal square of his receiver terminal.

Kirk's mouth twisted uncomfortably as he pressed his wristband against it. It bleeped, that innocuous sound signalling a significant chunk of his dwindling funds disappearing into Hadrian's corporate evergrind. Part of him knew it was frivolous to spend his crypts like this – to indulge himself in such a way – but it felt like a lifetime since he'd actually just done something for himself.

With the transfer complete, the shopkeeper swiftly bundled the violin into its case, moving with a fearsome speed, as though afraid the sale could still fall apart if he didn't get the instrument physically into Kirk's hands as quickly as possible.

"Thanks," Kirk said, swinging the travel case across his shoulder by its thick canvas strap. It bumped against his back, heavy and reassuring.

Now that the deed was done, he began to feel a little better as he stepped out of the shop and into Hadrian's cloying embrace.

The noise from the cramped alley market washed over him, throngs of people filling the narrow street, spilling in and out of jam-packed shop fronts. The air glittered with bursts of code snapping back and forth between visors of the better equipped merchants and buyers, cutting through the fug of smoke that settled over it all. He could smell a cocktail of cigarettes, cheap cologne, body odour and sizzling food. Beyond the tangle of structures in the dockside district, the neon glow of Hadrian's skyline was blinding, as though the sun had never truly set.

Nevay was waiting outside, lounging on a window sill of a shop on the opposite side of the alley, on leg bent and a cigarette scissored between the fingers of her left hand. In the right, a big, black-bladed knife hung, tapping against the stonework as though it had a mind of its own. She straightened up as he emerged, clamping the cigarette between her teeth and smoothing out her scuffed synth-leather jacket.